


Turn A Few Pages

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Books, Developing Relationship, Family, Multi, Musicians, Polyamory, Reading, Songwriting, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:49:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1327330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every evening after work, Athelstan takes the train home. Usually he sits alone in a quiet unoccupied carriage, but now there's always a family sitting nearby and they're all very interested in him, particularly the gorgeous tattooed parents. Athelstan should look away or find another carriage to sit in, but he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn A Few Pages

 

 

Athlestan blinked awake. He was still on the train, was it still Thursday? It didn’t feel like Thursday. And there was something lying on his foot. He stared down; it was his book, haphazard and half-open. Hadn't he been reading that? He still felt very asleep.

 

 

“Are you reading that book?”

 

 

A girl, slim with friendly features and prettily braided brown hair, sat down next to him. Athlestan blinked, he seemed to be doing that a lot lately. It must still be Thursday; he couldn’t remember Friday. But this carriage was usually empty by 8pm. It wasn’t empty now though, so was he dreaming? Athelstan rubbed his eyes, the girl was still there, expectant and smiling and apparently not laughing at him.

 

 

Athelstan stared dumbly down at the book for a moment, steadying himself as he heard the train’s wheels shudder on the track.

 

 

“Yes…yes, I was.” He scooped the book up, cutting his finger on one of the page edges. Not a dream. “Would you like to…? I'll need it back.”

 

 

“Of course! What’s it about?”

 

 

So Athelstan talked to her about the history of music and great composers, the inky-black world rushing past them outside. The girl listened with wide eyes and asked questions and read the book with careful hands. Athelstan watched her, feeling more awake by the moment.

 

 

Someone cleared their throat. Somehow, the noise sounded amused.

 

 

Athelstan’s attention jerked upwards. There were other people in the carriage – a couple was sat opposite him. Athelstan had to blink again, because they were so startling, almost too startling to be real. But there they were, a man and a woman, both blonde, both beautiful, both looking at him. The woman’s hair was intricately braided like the girl’s, and she wore a short denim skirt, a tailored jacket hiding everything above her waist. The man wore jeans and a sleeveless shirt that showed off his tattooed arms. His eyes were intensely blue. Athelstan felt a slide of heat down his spine and quickly averted his gaze. There was another amused sound.

 

 

“Next stop, Gyda,” the woman said softly.

 

 

The girl nodded and kept her head bent over the book. Athelstan tried not to look at the couple again, or pay attention to how fast his heart was beating. He wasn’t dreaming, apparently.

 

 

When the train stopped, the girl handed the book over without complaint but with clear regret. “Thank you.”

 

 

“I’m glad you liked it, Gyda?”

 

 

The girl, Gyda, beamed and then said quickly. “Do you always take this train? I’ll be here tomorrow and if you are too, could I read some more?”

 

 

Taken a little aback, Athelstan nodded. “Yes, I’m sure that’d be fine.”

 

 

Gyda smiled again and quickly followed the couple – her parents? – off the train. The couple were talking to Gyda as they walked along the platform but they both glanced at Athelstan with the sort of interested looks that he definitely wasn’t used to. They alarmed him, and made him feel vaguely pleased and hot under his skin.

 

 

He didn’t fall asleep again that night until he got home.

 

 

*

 

 

The next day on the train, there was a group of young men in Athelstan's carriage. They were loud and jostled against him as he tried to read. He could feel a headache approaching. He slipped his iPod earbuds in and listened to Rodrigo Y Gabriela, his eyes closed resolutely, his lips mouthing the words to an old hymn that fitted the music.

 

 

When Athelstan opened his eyes again, the men were gone and a familiar couple were there instead, sat opposite him, Gyda impatient beside them. She smiled when Athelstan look at her.

 

 

“He’s awake!”

 

 

The woman looked at Athelstan like she knew all his secrets and nodded. “Don’t presume, Gyda.”

 

 

Athelstan forced himself to pay attention to the girl. “Sorry, I had a headache and…”

 

 

The girl’s expression crinkled. “They were loud. I _said_ Mum and Dad should have cleared the carriage.”

 

 

“You’re very smart,” the man told her, amusement rich in his voice but he smiled when Gyda looked across at him and she smiled back, clearly pleased.

 

 

Athelstan found himself looking at the man too, his tongue distinctly tied. The man’s long braided hair fell past his shoulders and brushed against tattoos of men and beasts and what looked like a guitar. Athelstan was staring; he blushed at his own behaviour. What was it about this train carriage that made him lose all sense?

 

 

The woman leaned past her husband. “You’re very smart too, judging by that book.”

 

 

Athelstan coloured and tried to smile and deflect her apparently-serious praise while not stumbling over his own words. He didn’t succeed and Gyda shifted restlessly. Athelstan hastily retrieved the book from his bag for her.

 

 

“Sorry, Gyda. You were on chapter six, I think.”

 

 

She beamed happily and settled down to read. Athelstan tried not to look too uncomfortable, but the couple’s eyes were on him and he felt drawn into staring back. The man’s lips twitched into a smirk, a very self-satisfied one. He was probably used to being stared at, looking the way he did.

 

 

Before Athelstan could find the words to introduce himself and maybe get their names in return, the train began slowing down for its next stop and the pair got to their feet. Athelstan was surprised to find bitter disappointment gathering on his tongue. He opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say. Then he saw Gyda frowning, clearly not wanting to give up the book, and words were suddenly there for him.

 

 

“You can borrow it, if you like.”

 

 

Gyda looked at him excitedly. “Really? Thank you!”

 

 

Athelstan couldn't help smiling at her enthusiasm, and she did give him something to focus on other than her parents, which was good.

 

 

“Look after it for me.”

 

 

Gyda nodded rapidly. “I will. And I'll return it really soon, I promise.”

 

 

Athelstan nodded, he was pretty sure from the way she handled the book that she'd be careful with it. He didn't need it for his work in the music shop, he just liked rereading it. And he had other things to occupy him; he really should be spending the free time he had on the train transcribing his songs anyway.

 

 

The train stopped and Gyda threw herself at Athelstan for a quick hug. “Thank you...”

 

 

She paused and frowned, clearly only just realising that she didn't know his name. Athelstan quickly provided it, with a flicker of a glance towards the waiting couple. “Athelstan.”

 

 

“Athelstan.”

 

 

She hugged him again and then rushed to her parents' side, showing them the book with a stream of whispered words. The woman touched a hand to Gyda's head and glanced towards Athelstan. Her gaze was probing, Athelstan swallowed, feeling like he was being weighed and measured. He hoped, inexplicably, that he wasn't found wanting. The woman almost smiled though and Athelstan felt warmed as she left. The man was a step behind her, his gaze full of unapologetic hunger as he looked at Athelstan, his mouth wide with a smirk as it formed Athelstan's name. It felt like a promise.

 

 

Athelstan shivered and plugged his earbuds back in, his heart thumping wildly in time with the music, his thoughts whirling heatedly. More than ever before, he was actually looking forward to his next journey home.

 

 

*

 

 

Lagertha and Ragnar. Those were the couple's names. They offered them when the young boy with them, Bjorn, demanded to know what sort of name Athelstan was. Apparently Gyda, his sister, had mentioned it when talking about her borrowed book.

 

 

“I'm told it's the name my parents gave me,” Athelstan offered, taken aback by the scorn poured his way by Bjorn.

 

 

Bjorn sneered, but his father clasped his shoulder, apparently a signal for the boy not to start talking again. Athelstan's expression was probably grateful as he talked to Gyda about the book, about what parts she was enjoying and what other books she might be interested in reading afterwards. Bjorn watched with narrowed eyes, Athelstan tried to ignore him. He tried to ignore Ragnar and Lagertha's eyes on him too, but that was more difficult.

 

 

Eventually Gyda's questions dried up and her attention returned to the book, and Bjorn looked at Athelstan like he wanted to ask him something but was resolved not to so he glared out of the window instead. Athelstan could feel other eyes on him though. He could feel their pull, so much so that he couldn't resist returning a little of the couple's stare. Lagertha was wearing a leather jacket that was too big for her, and patterned tights that drew attention to her legs. Her head was tilted towards Ragnar and Athelstan could see part of her neck tattoo, there was a name and maybe a snake head. He wanted to see more and Lagertha was tilting her neck obligingly like she knew what he was thinking. Athelstan flushed and quickly averted his gaze. Ragnar laughed too loudly but his expression wasn't mocking. He looked greedy, as greedy as Athelstan suddenly realised he felt too.

 

 

Athelstan directed his own gaze downwards, willing himself to calm down, willing his pounding heart to quieten. What was wrong with him? He barely knew these people but somehow they were continuously overwhelming his thoughts.

 

 

Ragnar laughed again but didn't try to gain Athelstan's attention. Athelstan concentrated on his notebook, on the music that he should have been writing the whole time. He scribbled down words and tune ideas to go with them, until the sky darkened and the train slowed, Gyda and Bjorn rushing to the doors, both wanting to be the one to press the door-release button. Athelstan could smell Lagertha's perfume; it was woodsy with clear notes of leather and lime. He breathed it in, his pen scribbling down lyrics on autopilot, inspired by what he was supposed to be ignoring.

 

 

Lagertha touched his shoulder. “Thank you, Athelstan.”

 

 

He took in an unstable breath, what was she thanking him for? For lending Gyda the book? For keeping the girl entertained during recent journeys? Athelstan's breathing became even more wrecked when Ragnar hunkered down beside him and laid a heavy hand on Athelstan's knee. Athelstan could feel Ragnar's warmth through the denim.

 

 

Ragnar looked at him intently. “Very good.”

 

 

He traced a pattern across Athelstan's knee and thigh and then left abruptly without another word. Athelstan stared after him – an ornate tattoo of a sword covered Ragnar's right shoulder and arm, it reached all the way down to his elbow. It suited him.

 

 

Athelstan's mouth was dry. He shook his head, but the images stayed and the song lyrics flowed. Later, when he got home, he strummed his guitar and dreamed.

 

 

*

 

 

One evening, Lagertha threw him an orange “Where is your energy, Athelstan?”

 

 

Athelstan smiled weakly; he'd spent most of the day lugging around heavy instruments in a shop that didn’t have air-conditioning, he probably smelled terrible. Lagertha's gaze intensified – Ragnar was talking to Bjorn and Gyda was reading again so Athelstan was favoured with all of Lagertha's attention. He was unsure if he felt lucky or not, though the warmth silently unfolding inside of him answered that question. He tried not to clench his fingers too tightly around the orange.

 

 

The next night, he told Gyda that he played the piano so she asked him to teach her. Athelstan ended up using blank sheets from his notebook to represent keys. Gyda watched his hands move across them as he hummed out a tune. Gyda copied him pretty impressively and Athelstan smiled as she completed the song.

 

 

“You've got talent.”

 

 

“She's not the only one,” Ragnar drawled, something heated and pleased in his expression.

 

 

Athelstan ducked his head, but smiled all the same. Under Ragnar and Lagertha's interested gazes, he taught Gyda more songs.

 

 

*

 

 

Someone sat down beside Athelstan – Lagertha, in Ragnar's leather jacket again and a long patchwork skirt. Despite the cold weather, she was wearing sandals, her toenails painted dark purple. There was a fine silver charm chain fastened around her right ankle. Her shoulder pressed against Athelstan's.

 

 

There was nobody else but the family seated in the carriage again, Bjorn and Gyda were arguing about something, an iPad lying between them. Ragnar was sat in front of Athelstan, turning around so that his legs tangled with Lagertha's. Athelstan should have felt trapped, there was a little flicker of fear, a lot of confusion and a great deal of tiredness thanks to the hours he'd worked that day, but there was also a strange and beguiling feeling of comfort and safety. After Athelstan’s busy day, that feeling was very tantalising indeed. He swayed towards Lagertha, causing her smile to increase.

 

 

Then her smile touched his temple. Athelstan jerked back, Ragnar reached for Athelstan's knee, his hand a warm reassuring weight before it began tracing familiar patterns there. Athelstan's heart raced, the skin which Lagertha had kissed felt like it was burning. Lagertha held his gaze unapologetically, Ragnar too.

 

 

There was a tattoo around Ragnar's wrist, music notes and words in a foreign language that Athelstan didn’t recognise. He wondered what Lagertha and Ragnar did when they weren't on the train. He wondered...

 

 

Lagertha slid her hand into his, her expression a subtle question. Ragnar made a satisfied noise and hummed the song that Athelstan had recently been teaching Gyda. It made something move in Athelstan's chest.

 

 

The bright lights flashing past the train fluorescently painted Lagertha and Ragnar's skin. Athelstan was memorised but he managed to listen as the couple talked – they were tattoo artists, they had a studio in London though they actually lived a little way out of the city, hence the nightly train journeys. Outside of work, Ragnar played the guitar, Lagertha taught kickboxing, Gyda wanted piano lessons, maybe Athelstan could help with that?

 

 

“I...”

 

 

Athelstan knew that he probably looked as unsure as he felt; he could see his blurry reflection in the nearby window. He also knew that there was nothing pressing taking up his evenings except for more music theory study and more songs to compose about this particular carriage's passengers. He blushed a little, thinking about the words that he regularly sang in the privacy of his flat.

 

 

Maybe he nodded, because Lagertha hummed softly and arranged Athelstan so that his head was resting against her shoulder. Ragnar tangled a hand in Athelstan's hair, tugging on the curls almost gently and pressing his mouth briefly to Athelstan's forehead, then to his cheek. Athelstan closed his eyes, his skin tingling, his body hot, but he was far too tired to retreat or resist and lying there with them felt so good, almost addictive in fact. Maybe this was a dream anyway; maybe he'd fallen asleep on the train again.

 

 

He didn't know how long they sat there like that – Ragnar's fingers digging into his scalp, Lagertha firmly grasping his hand - but when he opened his eyes again, the carriage was empty and a phone number had been penned onto the soft flesh of his arm. He stared at it, but it didn't disappear. His breath was loud in his throat and ears, it sounded like the ocean's roar.

 

 

*

 

 

The next time that Athelstan saw the family on the train, Gyda sat down next to him and handed him back his book.

 

 

“You're coming home with us.”

 

 

Athelstan swallowed, shooting a glance towards Ragnar and Lagertha. They were both watching him unashamedly, and there was a sketchbook in Ragnar's lap, full of ideas for new tattoos. Athelstan glimpsed piano keys and familiar-looking music notes; it made his mouth dry and that ocean roar again.

 

 

He’d saved their number on his phone, but he still hadn't washed it off of his arm. He'd frequently found himself tracing the digits with his fingertips. It felt like a brand. He'd written a new song recently about patterns on skin, about ink and the marks made by mouths, hands, and people. He'd found himself buying a lot of oranges.

 

 

Gyda looked at him impatiently, expecting a reply to her statement. Athelstan’s thoughts whirled, his fingers twitching for a keyboard.

 

 

His sleep had been patchy at best recently. More than once he’d woken up, reaching for something or someone, some feeling, something that he _needed_ bone-deep.

 

 

When the train stopped, Gyda and Bjorn leapt from the carriage, chasing each other down the platform. Lagertha and Ragnar followed them. Athelstan waited a moment, only a moment, then, with his heart hammering loudly, forming a dizzying melody with that ocean roar, he got to his feet.

 

 

*

 

 

Athelstan felt the firm brush of leather against his arm, then Ragnar halted under the yellow spot of a streetlight and guided Athelstan slowly into a kiss, giving him time to resist. He didn't. It felt like electricity, like a dam had finally been broken, like a shock that wasn't a shock at all. Bjorn shouted something but all Athelstan was truly aware of was Ragnar's mouth and its demanding heat.

 

 

Lagertha ran a hand down Athelstan's side and took Ragnar's place, her mouth no less demanding or informative. Athelstan moaned, Ragnar's answering pleased noise was hot against Athelstan's ear, his hands tracing patterns down Athelstan's arms. Gyda called from nearby, her voice twining with Bjorn's. They didn't sound upset.

 

 

Lagertha drew back though, her thumb running across Athelstan's lips. Athelstan blinked, but he was definitely awake, he could feel the sharpness of Ragnar's teeth on his neck, marking territory or creating another pattern. What was Ragnar planning? There was that fear again, shivering through Athelstan, but the comfort and safety was there too, it overwhelmed almost everything else.

 

 

Athelstan felt cocooned and exposed all at once. He felt as though if he let go of the couple, he'd float away, or disappear. His fear increased at such a thought. He leaned back into Ragnar, gaining himself another biting grounding kiss. Lagertha kissed him again, a firm dedicated statement.

 

 

Bjorn grumbled loudly, Gyda slipped her hand into Athetstan's. Athelstan closed his eyes; he could feel the strong blowback breeze of the train leaving the station. He could hear new songs taking shape in his head; he could see shadowy unknown paths stretching out in front of him. He could smell oranges.

 

 

_-the end_

**Author's Note:**

> A Russian translation of this fic very kindly done by A handful of raisins can be read [here](http://ficbook.net/readfic/1911559)


End file.
